


Sweet Home Deadwood

by Isabella2004



Category: Deadwood
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Love, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24859456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isabella2004/pseuds/Isabella2004
Summary: An unfortunate event in the camp presents opportunity for both Al and Joanie. Catherine, unhappy in her new life, makes a decision with far-reaching consequences, forcing both she and Al to face up to how they really feel.
Relationships: Al Swearengen/OC
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the continuation of my previous stories 'Hell of A Place', 'A Fragile Life', and 'The Companion.'  
> I don't own any Deadwood characters.

4 November 1876

San Francisco

Dear Joanie,

My apologies for not writing to you before now but matters here have kept me quite preoccupied. Needless to say, our journey west was long and arduous, but mostly uneventful. I confess that travelling such distance by stagecoach is much preferable to travelling by wagon and Phoebe proved to be an entertaining companion. We were also joined by two older ladies in Casper and they delighted us with many tales of their lives which helped pass the time. They too were bound for San Francisco and Phoebe made sure to know them so I hope that we might meet with them again.

I remain within Phoebe and Mr Hearst's home and have been granted a very pleasant suite of rooms, far superior to that which I expected. I also have a ladies' maid of sorts, Rose, who is tasked with doing my bidding. I must confess I find it strange requesting things of her but that seems to be the way of things here. I had hoped to be within my own lodgings by now, but Mr Hearst has stated that he feels it may be unwise for a woman such as myself, alone yet with some means, to not live with the security of others. I have emphasised my wish for independence and the discussion still continues. I hope to have my own lodgings by Christmas, but we shall see. You will be heartened to hear that there has been no repetition of that which occurred prior to my leaving the camp. I remain hopeful that there will be no further mention of it.

From what I have seen, San Francisco is a beautiful city. On occasion, I have been down to the water, cold though it has been, and watched the ships in the bay. The ocean stretches before it, so vast and wide and I find myself wondering what it would be like to sail far away, perhaps even to another country.

I hope you are well and that things are settled in the camp. Perhaps you could tell me if you've seen Al of late and how he seems. 

All my best wishes,

Catherine

XXXX

"Really Phoebe, I'm not sure that this is a suitable match at all!"

"And why not?"

"Well, she's not of our ilk, is she? She's from a pioneer camp, a rough and dangerous one by all accounts. Not to mention the fact that she has previously been married."

"A situation borne out of necessity rather than anything else. She is a lovely girl, Lydia, and she can hardly help from whence she came. Besides, she is originally from Chicago, not Deadwood."

"And a dirty city that is too from what I hear. But Edward…he is a fine young man and of some means too."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, I fear he could set his sights slightly higher than some girl that no-one really knows, with no parentage and questionable means."

"Her means are hardly questionable."

"Profit from a youthful union? My dear…I admire your wish to elevate her in society given how you feel for her, but I really think that this is not a wise course…"

Catherine McCord glanced across the room from where she was sitting and could tell that the two women at the far end were discussing her. Phoebe Hearst, she would wager, would be speaking in her favour but the little acquaintance she had had with Lydia Bracken would suggest a much more critical comment. She shifted slightly in her seat, the heavy taffeta of the dress she was wearing rubbing against the side of her neck. With her hair tightly twisted on top of her head, she felt exposed, but her friend had insisted that presenting oneself in such a way was necessary when appearing in company and she had been in no frame of mind to argue.

"May I get you another drink?"

Her attention was suddenly pulled back to the man sat in front of her, watching her keenly, and she smiled at him in response. "That would be very kind, thank you." She watched as he loped away over to one of the smartly dressed waiters holding trays of full glasses and found herself grateful for the few moments of solitude. Edward Milligan was a very nice man, she had to grant him that. He was pleasant, attentive, complimentary with witty conversation and yet…she glanced down at her hands, clasped as they were in her lap and couldn't help but wish for the sound of a gruff rebuke.

She looked back over to where Phoebe stood smiling encouragingly at her and she gave the required response, yet inwardly cursed her friend's attempt at matchmaking. It was the second occasion in which she and Edward had been thrust together and she knew that Phoebe would be delighted if a courtship were to develop. She knew her life could take a very different course were she to become his wife and yet, how could she even entertain it when, inside, she still felt so inextricably bound to another?

"Miss McCord."

She looked up to see that Edward had returned and was holding out a fresh glass. Taking it from him, she fought the urge to drain it in one fell swoop and, instead, sipped it carefully. "Thank you."

"You're most welcome." He settled himself into the chair opposite her again. "There is a very good play on at the theatre at the moment. One of my acquaintances was telling me about it. It's apparently very humorous."

"Oh yes?"

"I was wondering if you would care to attend a performance with me. Perhaps we could make up a foursome with Mr and Mrs Hearst."

Catherine paused, wondering if there was a way that she could decline without being outright offensive. In a past life, she would have snorted derisively at such a suggestion and no doubt responded with an obscenity, the likes of which she had required to attempt to remove from her vocabulary since her arrival in San Francisco. It wasn't that she didn't feel a play might be enjoyable, or that Edward wouldn't prove to be an amiable partner on such an occasion, but she knew that by accepting, she would only be encouraging him in a quest that was doomed to failure. "Well I…"

"And what are you two conversing so deeply about?" Phoebe appeared suddenly at her side and she and Edward both stood to greet her.

"I was just telling Miss McCord about a play I had heard tell is very good," Edward replied. "I was hoping that we all might attend one evening."

"That sounds wonderful, doesn't it Catherine?" Phoebe turned to her, her eyes shining with possibilities. "It would be a lovely change from dreary dinners and banal conversation, don't you think?"

"Yes," Catherine nodded dutifully as yet another part of her died inside at the future stretching before her, "yes it would be."

Deadwood

"It's fucking freezing out there," Dan Dority said, coming into the office and slamming the door behind him. "Snow's coming. I wager it'll be here before long and then we'll have all manner of shit to deal with."

Al Swearengen looked up from the papers he had been considering and regarded his underling carefully. "Do you have any useful information to impart to me other than the fucking forecast?"

"Hotel's repaired. Last bit of timber went in this morning. Looks as good as new. You'd never be able to tell that anyone ever took a hammer to it."

"E.B. will be happy."

"He was out there, dancing around and looking up at it like it was some sort of fucking miracle rather than the work of men." Dan sat down in the chair opposite Al's desk. "You'd think he was proprietor again rather than simply in Hearst's employ."

Al sat back in his chair. "I guess there's no fucking escape from Hearst's influence, even if the man himself be gone."

"No sir, especially not with the extended operation at the diggings."

Al considered how things had changed over the preceding months since George Hearst had left camp. The not unsubstantial works at the diggings previously owned by Alma Ellsworth had increased tenfold which, although providing employment for many in the camp, was also proving unsettling towards those who still held their own claims. Though Hearst had managed to procure many of them for his own, some independent operators had held out, even in the face of direct threats banded together, at least in rumour, by Whitney Ellsworth. He had to admire them for that at least and couldn't help but think that they had shown more fortitude than he had himself when called upon. Pushing the thought from his mind, he turned to more immediate matters. "What's happening downstairs?"

"Usual crowd's in."

"The girls fucking?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." He looked back down at his papers, indicating that the meeting was over, and yet Dan lingered. "Was there something else?"

"I was just wondering…" Dan paused.

"Wondering what?"

"Well…just if you'd…maybe if you'd heard from Catherine is all."

The very mention of her name made Al's stomach contract. It had been almost three months since he had last looked upon her, three months since she had climbed aboard the stagecoach and rolled out of town, three months since he had felt anything close to contentment. "In what sense?"

"I don't know, a…a letter maybe? I mean, it ain't as if she's going to turn up here again out of the blue like…is it?"

Al looked up. "I ain't had no letters from her and I don't fucking expect any. Does that answer your question?"

"I was just wondering is all…" Dan got up and headed for the door. "I'll go back downstairs and make sure everything's running as it needs to."

When he had gone, Al threw his quill down and sighed heavily, irritated that the other man had opened the symbolic door and allowed the ghost of his former wife to glide into his thoughts. So many nights since she had left he had lain awake and considered what his course of action should be. As many times as he had considered forgetting her very existence so he had considered stealing out of the camp on horseback and riding for San Francisco to reclaim her. How difficult could it be? He would simply track her down and bring her back. But then he remembered her words to him and the look in her eyes when they had parted. There would be little to gain in such a quest except humiliation and no matter how he cared for her, he wasn't about to let her have the final, terrible word. Not to mention the fact that, despite how much he may wish it, he still wasn't sure that he could comfortably lie with her.

Getting to his feet, he made his way over to the balcony and opened the door, a chill blast of air hitting him as he did so. Dan had been right about the prospect of snow. He could smell it, cold and dense, making its way to the camp. Bad weather always impeded business. Folks tended to stay indoors rather than venture out for liquor or pussy. It was just one of the many pressing matters that required his attention, more urgent than any vain hope or wish he might have.

"Fucking snow," he said, slamming the door closed again.

San Francisco

"What a wonderful evening," Phoebe declared as the carriage took the party homewards at the evening's conclusion. "The food was delicious and the company delightful."

"Yes, I agree it was a very pleasant gathering," Hearst agreed. "What say you, Miss McCord? Did you enjoy yet another taste of Californian hospitality?"

Catherine drew her gaze from the window and smiled as she knew she was expected. "Yes, it was very nice."

"I witnessed you conversing with Mr Milligan," Hearst continued. "Do you find his company pleasing?"

"He seems a very nice man."

"I'm glad you think so. He is indeed a fine fellow."

"I would wager that he has a keen eye for beauty," Phoebe said coyly. "He could scarce take his eyes away from Catherine all evening. Indeed, he wishes to accompany her to a play."

"That does sound like a fine idea."

"He suggested we make a foursome, George. What say you to that?"

"I would say that I cannot think of anything I would like more."

"Splendid! Catherine, we must make the arrangements. I will send word to Mr Milligan and we shall decide upon a date." The carriage pulled to a halt outside the Hearst home. "I do confess to not being a bit tired, despite the activities of the day. Catherine, will you join us for a nightcap before turning in?"

There was nothing that she wanted less. Playing the part of a quiet, demure newcomer to the city was exhausting and she longed for the solitude of her rooms where she could be free to wallow in her own emotions. But she also knew better than to be churlish in the face of such requests, so she merely nodded in acquiescence as Hearst opened the door and stepped out. Holding out his hand, he helped Phoebe out first and though she wanted to refuse his gesture of assistance, Catherine found she had little option but to accept his proffered hand and allow him to help her down. As he did so, she felt him press himself slightly against her and she bristled at the contact. As she had written in her letter to Joanie, mailed the previous day, he had made no attempt to repeat what had happened that night at Shaughnessy's, but she remained on constant alert lest he should try to overpower her again.

In the Hearsts' drawing room, next to the fire, she accepted a glass of wine, her eyes drawn into the flames as husband and wife spoke around her. She knew she should feel free in her new life and yet she had never felt more enslaved. Often she wondered what her expectations had truly been and she had to confess that, three months since leaving Deadwood, she had assumed she would at least have her own lodgings. Being in his house, in his company, brought her no peace.

"Catherine? Catherine!"

She was pulled out of her reverie by the sound of her name and, turning, she saw Phoebe looking at her with mild amusement. "You haven't heard a word I've just uttered, have you?"

"No," she confessed. "I'm afraid I haven't."

"I was just saying to George that, given it is his birthday in a few weeks time, we should host a gathering."

"And I was replying that it was not necessary," Hearst said.

"What say you?"

Catherine looked between them, unsure what the safest response was and, deep down, not caring one way or the other as to the decision to be made. "I…think it sounds a lovely idea," she settled upon.

Phoebe grinned in victory. "Then it is settled and you must help me with the preparations. What fun we shall have in the coming days organising matters."

"Yes," Catherine agreed, draining her wine glass and eyeing the bottle in the corner. "What fun."

Deadwood

Fucking the whore from behind was the easiest course of action. With her face buried in the blankets, it was simple to pretend that she was someone she was not. Although everything about her felt different, his mind was such that he was able to conjure someone else beneath him. He imagined that he could hear her cries and feel her reciprocated desire even though neither was present in the quiet of the bedchamber. The whore had much to learn in the art of making a man think she was enjoying having him inside her. Perhaps it helped that she was relatively new to the fold. Dolly knew too much or, rather, thought she knew too much for him to be able to relax around her and none of the others held the appeal they might once have. Beth was slightly older than Catherine, her hair a mossy brown instead of auburn, her frame more slight, her face more pinched and yet, the fact that she hadn't known the other woman somehow made it more straightforward.

He gripped her tightly around the waist and thrust harder inside her. It was tempting to talk, to let his feelings spill out along with his cum, but in the recent past that had only succeeded in the whore thinking he wished her opinion on matters best kept to his own counsel, so he clenched his jaw and allowed the words to circulate in his mind instead of in the air.

"You have any idea what you've fucking done to me? Rendered me thus that there are times I can barely think straight without your vision in my mind. Every time I close my fucking eyes I see you, accepting Hearst's hand and climbing into that stagecoach. Over and over I see the horses pull you away from me and I tell myself 'good riddance. No good could have come from you staying' and yet…I ask myself, question myself over words said and actions done and ponder whether or not things might have been different if I had just kept my fucking mouth shut about what happened to you. You might have stayed in the camp, I might have been able to persuade you to such a fucking course. I may even, given time, have felt able to be with you as I knew you wanted but you…you had to be so fucking forthright, so fucking opinionated and sure of what was best. You had to decide that to flee was better than fucking remaining and facing up to things. Fucking stupid cunt. You should have stayed here. You should have been near me. You should have…"

Release was coming and he could see her in his mind's eye. Her face, her eyes, her hair, her tits…Jesus would there ever be a time when he stopped wanting her, stopped missing her, stopped needing her? His actions grew more insistent and he growled in appreciation as he spilled inside the vessel of this thoughts. He withdrew quickly and stepped back, his prick still jerking. She straightened up and looked at him questioningly over her shoulder.

"You want a fucking review or something?" he asked, moving around the bed towards the piss-pot. "Get the fuck out." Shaking himself into the bowl, he lifted the bottle from the nightstand and drank, his gaze on the camp outside as night began to fall. The approach of winter meant the light faded faster and returned slower than during the long summer months and he could still feel the chill of the air in his very bones. He heard the door close softly behind him and turned to see that he was finally alone. "Fucking whore." He shook his prick a final time and then rebuttoned his duds before lying down on the bed.

"Love ain't an emotion I subscribe to…" 

"Should have stuck to that fucking viewpoint," he said to himself, draining another quart of the bottle. "I wish you would get the fuck out of my head." Sliding beneath the blankets he laid his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, fancying that he knew every crack, every splinter, every mark having stared so long at it in months gone by. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes as post-coital fatigue swept over him. "I hope you're fucking happy now, Cathy."

San Francisco

She knew she should have been asleep long before and yet Catherine found herself sitting in the chair by her bedroom window looking out onto the street, pondering the life she now had. When they had finally arrived, tired and weary from weeks on the road, she had been overwhelmed by the opulence of the Hearst home and found herself quite surprised that Phoebe had been able to last one day in Deadwood, let alone almost a fortnight. When she had been shown her quarters she had been staggered as to the space within which she was expected to live and being presented with Rose, her maid, had been an experience that had almost convinced her that she was living in some sort of fairy tale. Phoebe had, almost immediately, taken charge of her wardrobe and dresses had been brought to her to select along with various other fripperies and she had signed appropriately then spent time staring at them as they hung nearby. The following day, Hearst had accompanied her to the local bank in order to meet the manager and to be assured that her means would be readily accessible to her. On their return journey to the house, he had suggested that she might take some advice from him regarding investments but, so far, she had avoided repetition of the conversation.

In the weeks and months that followed there had been soirees and balls and other gatherings that she had been included in. She had been introduced to important and wealthy people, eaten food and drank liquor that she had never tasted before and, but for a mild warning from Phoebe that she should try to lift her accent, tone and vocabulary to a more acceptable state, had been indulged beyond anything she could have imagined.

She knew she should have been happy, excited, grateful and yet…

He was everywhere around her, even though he had no place in her new life. Whenever a door opened, she expected him to enter. Every time she glanced across a room, she expected to see him. When there was talk within her hearing of anything of importance, she expected to hear his input. And, despite the distance between them before she had made her journey west, every time she slid beneath her bedsheets, she expected to feel his touch. She tried so very hard to banish him from her mind, to lock him in a box as part of her past along with her parents and her child, but she found it almost impossible. In locking the box she could never discard the key and, too often, she would open it and allow the memories to swirl around her to the point where she would open her eyes to find her vision blurred by tears and her body heaving with sobs.

San Francisco was a pleasant place, but she yearned for Deadwood, for the dirt in the thoroughfare, the smell from Chinks Alley, the shouting of the hoopleheads, the warmth of the Gem…she yearned for all of it and, every night when she carefully locked her door, she questioned whether she had made the right decision.

As if on cue, there was a sudden knock at her door, causing her to jump. She sat staring at it, wondering if it had just been her imagination, when the knock came again, slightly more insistent. Slowly, she got to her feet, lifting her knife from where it sat upon the dressing table, and moving towards the door. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest at the prospect of who could be on the other side. Were it Hearst, would she gut him right there in the hallway or should she wait until he tried to subdue her? Would she be able to scream before matters progressed that far? Turning the key, she slid the door open and saw, to her relief, that it was only Rose.

"Rose, you f…you scared me," she said.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I noticed your light from under your door as I was making my way to bed and I wanted to ensure that you were well."

"I'm very well, thank you. I just couldn't sleep is all."

"May I bring you something?"

"No," she replied hurriedly. "No, it's all right. I'll turn in now."

"As you wish ma'am. Goodnight."

"Goodnight Rose." She closed the door over and let out a long, slow breath. "This is no way to fucking live," she said to herself, feeling her eyes start to smart with tears. "No way to fucking live at all."


	2. Chapter 2

November 7th 1876

The day had begun like any other for Al. A slow awakening in the dull light of morning and a realisation that he slept alone, a drink from the bottle by the bed, a journey to the piss-pot and an overview of the camp from his window. It was always reassuring to see business going about as normal, but there was also a sort of melancholy that came over him. Things in the camp never changed and, yet, so much had changed in his own life. Once the thought had past, a quick wash at the bowl saw him dressed and venturing downstairs to face whatever was due to transpire that day.

"Morning boss," Johnny greeted him in the bar.

"Johnny," he replied, pouring himself some coffee from the pot and surveying the room before him. Instantly, he felt that something wasn't quite right. "Something's different in here."

"Different how?"

"I don't know, just fucking different," he replied, his brow furrowed. "Have you changed something in here?"

"Not so as I'd recall."

"I moved some tables," Dan said, coming out of the kitchen to join them. "Thought we should create a bit more room in that corner over there. Folks been complaining that it's a bit fucking cramped when it gets crowded."

Al looked at him, "Folks been complaining?"

"Yes sir."

He shook his head, "And there was me thinking that we existed for their fucking benefit rather than it being the other way around."

"Supply and demand," Dan said, spearing a piece of sausage with his fork. "Ain't that the way of it?"

"Since when did you become a fucking expert on what was good for business?"

"Just…making an observation is all."

"Well don't. And move those tables back. New-ness makes me feel unsettled." He turned as Jewel appeared in front of him with a plate of breakfast. "It better not be fucking cold."

"You need to get up earlier then," she replied. "If it's fucking cold, it's your own fucking fault."

"Man wants a hot breakfast when the weather turns," he replied.

"You think the snow's coming?" Johnny asked.

"According to Dan who, I'm led to believe, is a fucking expert on weather and the like, yes."

"It'll be here before the week's out," Dan said. "I can feel it."

"Well then it's to our great advantage that we have you here, Dan," Al said. "What with your 'feelings' and all. Perhaps you could put them to some greater use than simply opining on the fucking weather."

Dan paused, "Like what?"

Al was preventing from replying by the saloon door opening and E.B. appearing. He groaned inwardly as, despite the man's many uses, his presence first thing in the morning generally only meant he intended to lay some problem at Al's door that would require far greater thinking that he cared to undertake. "Morning E.B. Coffee?"

"No," E.B. replied. "No, there's no time for coffee Al. A grave event has occurred. A grave event that requires your thought and consideration."

"And what event might that be?"

"I heard it told from one of my customers, who heard it from one of those whores, who apparently saw the sorry scene for herself," E.B. said, his animation growing with every word. "If true, it opens up a situation of potential mutual benefit but also potential problems for the camp!"

"You want to tell me what it is or are you expecting me to guess?"

E.B. leaned in closer, as though divulging his most closely guarded secret. "Tolliver."

"What of him?" Al asked, thinking on his closest rival, a man who had shown himself to be in Hearst's employ when matters had been dissected in the weeks following the great man's departure. A man he had grown to trust even less than before as a result.

"He's dead."

Al paused, cup halfway to mouth as the magnitude of the other man's words sunk in. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be from third hand information. I took myself over to the Bella Union and the doors were closed and bolted. No sign of any activity."

"Maybe he's just still sleeping," Johnny said. "Man's allowed to lay in his bed, ain't that right boss?"

"One of your customers heard it from a whore?" Al asked, ignoring the other man.

"Yes sir."

"One of Tolliver's whores."

"Well it wouldn't be one of your whores now, would it?" E.B. laughed. "I mean, I assume so."

"The customer, where is he now?"

"Taking breakfast at my hotel."

Al turned to Dan. "Go and bring him here."

Dan paused. "Surely news will come when it's confirmed. Why do you need…?"

"Because I'm giving you a fucking order," Al replied. "I don't want the news to come when others deem it appropriate. It benefits me to be ahead of the game here, Dan. Not to mention the fact, I want to know if the cause be natural or something more fucking sinister."

E.B's eyes widened in what Al could recognise as both shock and also excitement, "You think there may be murder afoot?"

"In this camp? Tolliver?" Al shook his head and drained his cup. "If rumours of his death be true, nothing would fucking surprise me."

San Francisco

"Apologies for disturbing you, Ma'am, but you have a visitor."

Catherine looked up from the book she had been reading as Rose bobbed in the doorway. She had intended on taking a walk, but the sky had turned such a dark shade of grey after breakfast that she had felt it more sensible to remain indoors. Phoebe had taken to her bed with a headache, Hearst was nowhere to be found in the house and she had been grateful for the solitude. She couldn't remember the last time she had given her attention to the written word beyond a whisky order and losing herself in prose long forgotten had proved helpful in her quest to accept her new life. "A visitor?" she repeated, unsure as to who could have been calling on her when she knew so few people in the city.

"Yes Ma'am. It's Mr Milligan."

"Oh…"

"Shall I put him in the drawing room?"

"Uh…yes, please do. I'll be there shortly, thank you." When the door closed, Catherine rose and moved over to the looking glass. She looked passable, though her face was pale, no doubt due to the lack of sleep that persisted every night. She wondered what had brought Edward to her, given that arrangements had been made for them to attend the play he had mentioned the following evening. She hadn't anticipated seeing him again until then and the fact that he paid a call on her now made her feel strangely anxious.

When she entered the drawing room, he rose quickly from his chair and came forward to greet her, kissing her outstretched hand. As she drew it back, she couldn't help but think what an odd custom it was and yet Phoebe had told her that, in polite society, it was how men greeted women. Just one more thing that was so different from her life before.

"You look lovely this morning, Miss McCord," he said.

"Thank you, Mr Milligan. You…you look fine yourself." She cursed herself inwardly for not having a greater grasp of vocabulary, but the kind of remark she might have otherwise made would have clearly been inappropriate. "I wasn't expecting to see you until tomorrow."

"No, I appreciate that and I'm very much looking forward to accompanying you to the theatre but…I did wonder if you might consent to dine with me this evening."

"Oh…" she found herself somewhat taken aback and almost fearful at his suggestion. He was pleasant company and she fancied that their conversation would be easy, but it would be the first time that she had been in an intimate situation with him without others present and, strangely, that idea frightened her. "Well I…"

"I have no wish to make you feel uncomfortable," he interrupted her. "I suppose I assumed…that you are not a woman without experience…I mean…I'm aware that you've been previously married and…"

Catherine looked at him, "How do you know that?"

"Mr Hearst informed me," he replied. "He explained that it was a somewhat youthful indiscretion involving a situation whereupon you felt you had little choice…"

"That ain't the way of it at all! I mean…that wasn't how things were…" she turned away from him towards the window, looking out on the heavy sky, thinking back as she so often did these days. Why had she married Al? Had it been for protection in the camp? For financial security? For love…? She had always been convinced it had been for love but now, with everything she now knew, she found herself often unsure. Perhaps she had, unwittingly, used Al as he had used her. Regardless, it seemed inappropriate for Hearst to be discussing such things with others and she rounded upon her visitor again as anger replaced wistfulness. "The circumstances of my previous union are none of your concern!"

"I apologise," he held up his hands, red blush overcoming his cheeks. "I had no wish to offend. I was merely…I am sorry for having taken up your time. I will go now and…hope…that you continue to be willing to attend with me at the theatre tomorrow. I know that Mrs Hearst looks forward to it and after that…"

She felt churlish, especially seeing how he stuttered and fell over himself. It was hardly his fault that Hearst had fed him lies and there was no way for him to know the true depths of her own, complicated feelings, particularly when she was unsure of them herself. "No…it is I who should apologise. I find myself still rather…wounded by my previous experience. You are a kind man and I would be glad of your company at dinner this evening."

Edward's face broke into a smile that she had to concede was very handsome and he nodded enthusiastically. "Shall we say seven o'clock? I know a delightful place that I think you would find most pleasing."

"That sounds…perfect, thank you." When he had taken his leave of her, Catherine sank down into a vacant chair and put her hands over her face. Was this what was considered courting? A man asking a lady to join him for dinner whilst still using her full given name? It was certainly different from being fucked in a whore's room by a man who quickly thereafter became her husband, not from a sense of propriety, but from a sense of…well…what? Whatever the circumstances, there had most definitely been a lack of courting of her on Al's part.

"Al…" she lifted her head and felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes again. No matter how hard she tried to hate him, despise him for what he had done, with every passing day it only seemed more and more impossible.

Deadwood

The man stared at him, as though somewhat shocked at being asked for his account of things. Dan had accompanied him over to the Gem from the hotel, protestations abounding, until he had found himself face to face with Al and his demeanour had changed.

"I…I don't know what you want me to fucking say," he said.

"I want you to say what you fucking heard," Al replied, feeling with every passing second that he was speaking to a true simpleton. "Word has it you learned of Mr Tolliver's demise from one of his whores. Now, what did she say?"

"Well she just…I mean…" his eyes darted amongst the men looming over him. "She just said he was dead, that's all. I don't…I don't know any more than that."

"Dead how?"

"I don't know."

"By blade, by bullet, by beating…?"

"I don't know, Mr Swearengen, I swear I don't! It was that Lila one that told me and she…well she's…"

"A dope fiend," Al straightened up. "So, her word counts for shit."

"Why would she lie?" Johnny opined.

"Because she's a dope fiend, Johnny, and that is one of their single purposes in life, lying!" He turned back to the man in front of him. "You've added nothing to my learning. Get the fuck out of here!"

"What do you want to do, boss?" Dan asked as the man ran for the door as though his life depended on his reaching it in time.

"Well, firstly we need to confirm or deny rumours of Tolliver's demise," Al replied. "Next, we consider how best to proceed. Now you know that I had every intention on offering on that property if that asshole hadn't gone and sold it to Tolliver without giving me the fucking chance to make a better bid. If he's dead, without a will or without family…then opportunity presents itself."

"You want to buy the Bella Union?" E.B. asked, sliding up next to him. "To add to your holdings here at the Gem? To become a two-pronged operator, as such?"

"Might not be a bad idea. Expansion, as I'm sure Mr Hearst would have agreed, is never a bad thing."

"What about that whoremistress he had a liking for?" Dan asked.

"What about her?"

"If he is dead, he might have left the place to her."

"Her who, by all accounts, ran out on him to work at the Chez Ami before Wolcott forced its closure? Her whose leaving no doubt aided in turning Tolliver towards Hearst? Her who he clearly held in higher regard than he fucking should have? Though I have only had amiable interactions with the woman and found her to have been caring and pleasant towards those she considered to be a friend, why the fuck would he have left it to her?"

Dan shrugged, "I don't know. I guess…in the same way you might leave this place to Catherine. If you were so minded, that is…"

Al paused at the other man's words, said so easily and yet…he glanced around the empty bar and thought, not for the first time, what decisions he might make for its future, being as he was without wife or heir. "I very much doubt, Dan, that in forging a new life in San Francisco, Catherine would give a fuck about inheriting this place."

XXXX

Joanie Stubbs stood, staring at the bed and the man who lay in it and wondered, not for the first time, if it was some kind of cruel joke. Eighteen years. Eighteen long years she had belonged to Cy Tolliver, unable to break away mentally and emotionally even when she had physically left the Bella Union and opened the Chez Ami. She had always gone running back to him, despite everything, despite everyone telling her not to. To see him now, dead before her, she found herself unable to regulate how she was supposed to feel. Relief? Joy? Sadness?

It had been Tess who had come to her, had slipped out the back door of the saloon after Lila had awoken to find Cy dead next to her and told her the news. She hadn't wanted to believe it at first and so she had followed the other woman back, cursing her former boss under her breath and vowing to make him pay if there was any hint that it was news delivered at her expense.

"What do you want me to do?" Tess asked from where she had been hovering at the door.

"Nothing," Joanie replied. "I don't want you to do nothing."

"But, what about opening up?"

"You think he'd want us to open even as he lies here dead?!" Joanie turned to face her. "Is that what you think, Tess?"

"I…I don't know," the other woman stepped back. "I ain't never…I ain't never been in this situation before…" her eyes flickered back and forth. "Do we need to tell someone?"

"You suggesting we just roll him on out of here, dispose of the body and pretend he fled the camp?"

"Well…"

"Don't be so fucking stupid, Tess." Joanie took off her hat and laid in on the side. "We need to get the doctor to come take a look at him."

"You mean, he might not be dead?"

"He is fucking dead, Tess, but the doctor should still come!" She stepped over to the bed and gently touched Cy's hand. It was cold under her fingers and she felt a shiver run through her body. "Send Leon to get him and if you can't find him, go yourself."

"What about Lila?"

"She sober or is she still doped up to the fucking eyeballs?"

"I don't know."

"I can fucking guess." Joanie sighed. "Leave her be now. Just get the Doc and…and we'll figure things out." She heard the door open and close and, once alone, sat down gently on the end of the bed, almost as she might have done if he were sick and she didn't wish to cause him discomfort, rather than him being dead and being in no danger of it anymore. As she stared at his face, she saw the years fall away, remembered the younger man he had been the day she had climbed aboard his wagon and her father had paid over the money. If she had known then what she knew now, would she have run for the hills? Despite it all, hadn't he protected her? Given her nice things? Kept her in nice surroundings? Treated her as well as his limited range of emotion had allowed? Didn't she owe him…something?

Stretching across, she lowered her face to his and gently kissed his lips then drew back, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "Goodbye Cy."

San Francisco

Phoebe had hardly been able to contain her excitement when Catherine had told her of Edward's visit that morning. All thoughts of a headache had clearly been forgotten over lunch when Catherine had recounted the tale of his calling upon her and the other woman had practically danced in her chair at the news. "Well, this is wonderful news!" she clapped her hands enthusiastically. "I knew he had a keen liking for you!"

"Yes," Catherine looked down into her soup. "I suppose he does."

"He is a fine young man, from a good family with a good fortune. He would make a wonderful companion. That will be all, thank you Charles," she dismissed the butler with a wave of her hand. "You don't seem as animated by this as I would have expected. If truth be told, I seem more animated than you and I am not the subject of Mr Milligan's affections."

"Affections…" Catherine shook her head. "I'm not sure that's a fair analysis."

"And why not? He clearly has taken a liking to you otherwise he would not have come to call and ask you to dine with him the day before he was due to see you in any event. I would say that demonstrates keen affection. But I understand if you fail to see it that way. After all…"

Catherine looked up. "After all..?"

"Well, forgive me, but I would venture to say that the art of courting a young woman such as yourself is not something that Mr Swearengen would appear very practiced in."

"He…I mean I…" she paused, unsure what to say, torn between loyalty to Al and the knowledge of the truth. "He had his way," she settled upon. "I certainly didn't protest it at the time nor find it to be…unappealing."

"I wish you weren't so melancholy my dear," Phoebe sighed. "That part of your life is over now. You have a chance here at a new start, a new life and you must grab it with both hands. A union with Edward would be most suitable."

She felt a shiver go through her at the thought of a union, of any description, with another man. How could she pledge herself, body and soul, to him when her thoughts, her feelings, her heart was so tied up with Al? "I'm not sure that's what I want."

Phoebe stared at her. "But you cannot mean to remain unmarried?"

"Why not? Why is a woman's worth dictated by whom she may wed?"

"That's not what I meant. But you are young, beautiful and with some means. You are a catch, my dear, and if Edward is not the one to claim you as his own then there are others who will be more than happy to attempt to win your good favour."

"I'm…not sure that I want that."

"Catherine…" Phoebe said gently. "I can well understand that you may still pine for a love of old, but that is behind you now and you must look forwards. It's not as if you will be returning to Deadwood now, is it?"

Catherine looked down into her soup again, the liquid disappearing in the misty film of tears. "No," she replied finally. "No, it's isn't."

Deadwood

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Doc said, turning to where Joanie stood in the corner of the room waiting for him to finish his examination. "I know you were close."

"How…how did he die?" she asked softly.

"I won't know an exact cause of death until I can get him back to my place but, on an initial examination, I'd say it looks like natural causes. There's no sign of injury that would lead me to believe there was any foul play."

Joanie let out a breath that she hadn't known she had been holding. "Thank you, Doc. I appreciate that."

"Would you like me to arrange the transportation?"

"No…no I can have Leon and Con bring him to you."

"All right then. You'll want to contact Tom Nuttall too so as he can arrange the coffin and Reverend Cramed…"

"I…I can arrange all that," she interrupted him, thinking on how Andy would react at being asked to preside over the funeral of a man he hated as much as he had hated Cy. "Thank you."

"No problem," Doc touched her arm briefly and then let himself out of the room, heading back down the stairs to where the girls were all gathered, their eyes turning to him as he approached. "You might want to go and help Miss Stubbs make him presentable," he said, watching as they dutifully climbed the stairs behind him, before letting himself out of the front door and back into the thoroughfare.

"Doc!" He paused upon hearing the familiar voice calling to him and, glancing upwards, saw Al leaning over the Gem balcony. "A word, if you have a moment."

"I'm busy," he replied, fully aware of the reason for the other man's call.

"Now," Al replied, in a tone that indicated the matter wasn't up for discussion.

Sighing heavily, he altered his course and made his way towards the door of the saloon. By the time he had entered, the other man was already heading down the stairs towards him and he braced himself for the inevitable interrogation.

"You came from the Bella Union."

"I did."

"And?"

"What exactly is it you wish to know?" Doc asked, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

"Whether rumours of Tolliver's demise are greatly exaggerated," Al replied. "And if they be true, the cause."

"Tolliver is dead. As to your second point, I have no formal opinion to give at this time."

"Don't be a fucking jerk. It can't be difficult to opine on how he died. Was there blood? A knife wound? A bullet hole?"

"Not that it's any of your fucking business, Al, but right now my opinion is that he died of natural causes."

Al nodded slowly. "Well I suppose that's better news than the other. Miss Stubbs, his former whoremistress."

"What about her?"

"Was she present at your examination? Did she weep or was she stoic in the face of her former employer's demise?"

"What the fuck does that have to…?"

"Answer the fucking question, Doc," Al said, moving closer to him.

"She was shaken but as to tears, I saw none. You should know that don't mean fucking nothing though."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I never saw you shed one fucking tear for Catherine when you thought she was dying, nor when she left this camp and I know that you felt sorrow on both those occasions."

The other man's eyes flickered and, for a moment, Doc thought he was going to say something profound. But, almost as though it had never happened, the familiar hardness returned to his gaze. "You don't know what you're fucking talking about."

He lifted his bag from the bar and turned towards the door again. "Don't I?"

"No."

"Well then, I guess we all know why you let her fucking go, don't we?"


	3. Chapter 3

San Francisco

The restaurant was very grand, far grander than anywhere she had eaten since arriving in the city and more opulent than anything the camp could have ever offered. Everyone was dressed impeccably, even the waiting staff and though she had worn one of the best gowns she now possessed, Catherine couldn't help but feel slightly out of place. Edward had arrived promptly in his carriage and as they had made their way through the city streets, she had felt as though she was in some sort of dream. Could it be possible that, but a few short months ago, she had been a whoremistress in a pioneer camp and now…now things were so different.

"You look lovely," Edward complimented her as the waiter poured them some wine. "That colour is very becoming."

"Oh, thank you," she replied. "This is certainly a lovely place."

"Yes, it's one of my favourites."

"You dine here often then?"

"As often as I can, but rarely with such handsome company." Catherine felt herself blush and sipped at her wine in an attempt to recover herself. "How are you finding life in our fair city?"

"It's certainly…different," she replied. "Even more so than Chicago ever was."

"There is certainly a quality to San Francisco that I believe is lacking elsewhere. I can only imagine how it differs from Deadwood."

"In about as many ways as it's possible for two places to be so different."

"Do you miss the camp?"

She paused and met his gaze, wondering if he was referring to anything in particular, or anyone. "I miss the people," she replied honestly, "well…some of them. But there is much to be said for paved streets."

He laughed good humouredly as the menus were produced and time was taken up with choosing what to order. By the time their decisions had been made, she could feel her stomach growl with hunger, having eaten little since lunch and, even then, sparingly.

"Have you decided how to spend your time here?"

"Well, I'm hopeful of finding my own lodgings in due course and then I must establish how I am to support myself."

Edward looked at her carefully over his glass. "Have you thought about investing?"

"Mr Hearst has made that suggestion and I may do a little of that, but I am keen to forge a path for myself. I'm not afraid of hard work and I'm not one to be kept. I had the rather fanciful notion of setting myself up in retail." His eyebrows lifted. "You think that shocking?"

"No, not at all. I admire your eagerness to be self-sufficient. I too share that view. Much of my means is inherited, but I also feel the benefit of an honest day's work. I suppose I take that from my late father." His expression grew wistful and she couldn't help but feel a connection.

"I'm sorry," she said. "My daddy died earlier this year."

"Yes, Mr Hearst told me. I'm sorry for your loss. My own father has been dead some five years now and yet, sometimes, it seems like only yesterday. When I meet with Mr Hearst, I often find myself surprised that my father isn't there with me."

"Do you have many dealings with Mr Hearst, in a business capacity?"

"Yes, I have a small, but not insignificant, stake in the Comstock, inherited from my father."

Catherine paused. "Your father and Mr Hearst were partners?"

"Yes, in a manner of speaking," Edward replied. "He knew far more about the business than I, however, so I tend to keep my involvement in matters of an economical nature to a minimum. I've always had a passion for the arts rather than a passion for the colour. I'm not sure that I would find travelling the country in search of it as rewarding as Mr Hearst does, or indeed my father did. But then I suppose, it's only through travel that one can expect to perhaps meet handsome women such as yourself. When Mr Hearst advised me that you were to accompany he and his wife back to the city, I was very keen to make your acquaintance, and I'm very glad that I have.

"So…you knew of me before my arrival?"

"Yes, Mr Hearst sent me a telegram about you. He thought it would be advantageous for us to meet, and I believe he was right." He smiled at her again and she found herself smiling in return, further conversation momentarily paused at the arrival of the first course. "This does look delicious."

"Yes," she agreed, "it does. What…what else did Mr Hearst tell you about me?"

"Nothing further in the telegram, but after your arrival I did meet with him on business matters. That's when he advised me about your first marriage." He looked at her again. "I apologise again for how casually I referred to it before. It was not my intention to offend you in any way."

"No, I understand that…" she turned her attention to her food, her mind whirring over the content of their conversation. Hearst had informed Edward in advance of her coming, had met with him and discussed matters of her previous relationship with Al…to what end? She had always assumed that being thrown together with Edward had been Phoebe's doing, to aid her quest to see her settled with another. But perhaps…perhaps it had been the doing of another.

"Mr and Mrs Hearst are very generous benefactors," he said, bringing her out of her reverie. "We are both very lucky to be able to call them friends."

"Yes," she said, a wave of disgust washing over her at the memory of Hearst's hands on her. "Very lucky."

Deadwood

"Tolliver was moved from the Bella Union and taken to Doc Cochran's where he remains. I do not like to consider what may be transpiring in his quarters. Perhaps he will find some grave anomaly with the man. Perhaps it is some terrible disease set to afflict all those with standing in the camp. Perhaps…I may be next…"

Al sighed and rolled his eyes. "E.B. your propensity towards the over-dramatic is wearying. I hardly think that there is any such disease that could strike based on what position a person holds in camp. Besides, if it were so, I need not think you have cause for concern."

"So, what is our next move?" E.B. asked, looking pointedly at him. "How are we to find out what plans he made? How are we to know if the Bella Union will be for sale?"

"You will require to keep your eyes and ears open. Any new types coming to camp that might be seen to be relatives or the like, any talk amongst the hoopleheads, that sort of thing."

"What of the former whoremistress?"

"You leave that angle to me," Al rose from his chair and moved over to the window, looking down on the darkening thoroughfare. "Fucking Doc," he muttered. "Thinks himself qualified to opine on things far beyond his station. Appears to be a worrying trend at the moment."

"I take it you refer to his comment regarding Miss McCord's departure from the camp," E.B. offered. "If you seek my opinion…"

"On that I do not. Goodnight E.B."

"Oh…uh…goodnight Al. Perhaps we shall be better informed in the morning."

"Perhaps." The door closed quietly and he turned back to his desk, lifting a bottle and glass from the drawer and pouring himself a generous measure. The conversation with Doc still irked him, not to mention the fact that words had been said within earshot of others, as E.B's comments had proved. His feelings on Catherine's leaving were his own, they were not to be dissected by others and what the fuck had the other man meant in any case when he had tossed his last remark over his shoulder as he had made good his escape? He didn't like having his feelings second-guessed, especially by a man with none of his own experience to draw upon.

Opening the office door, he was greeted with the raucous sounds of business below and as he wandered along the balcony, he looked down at the hoopleheads laughing, drinking and heading for fucking as if they hadn't a fucking care in the world. His gaze picked out where each whore was and, to his supreme irritation, he saw Beth deep in conversation with Dolly where she was no doubt regaling the new girl with lurid tales.

"Get them separated and tell them to make some fucking money!" he said to Johnny, descending the stairs. "This ain't a forum for deep fucking discussion."

"Saw that whoremistress leaving Tolliver's place a while back," Dan said as he approached the bar. "She was heading back towards Shaughnessy's."

"So, who's in fucking charge over there now then?"

"Stapleton?"

"Jesus Christ…" Al poured himself another drink. "They open for business or still closed?"

"Closed as a mark of respect I suppose."

"Well that won't please Tolliver. Even in the afterlife I'm sure he'd be fucking irked that cards weren't getting turned and pussies wasn't getting fucked." He drained his glass. "Any sign of Doc?"

"You expecting him back here?"

"I thought he might have seen fit to divulge the cause of death."

"He was in a strange mood earlier. I expect the earliest we'll see him is morning." Dan paused. "So, what do you want to do next?"

"I'd like to have another drink and make sure we take in plenty of money, Dan, what do you want to do next?"

"I meant…"

"I know what you meant. Sense dictates we proceed cautiously. Ain't no benefit to be gained by showing our hand too early. If the Bella Union opens for business tomorrow we might learn something."

"If you…uh…if you bought that place, what…uh…would you think about doing with it?"

"Tolliver made a decent living out of it. Nothing to say that we couldn't do the same."

"But…uh…how would you run two joints? I mean, reason dictates you can't be in two places at once now, can you?"

Al looked at him, knowing only too well the meaning behind the question. In the past, he had always looked upon Dan almost as a son and thought of him perhaps as heir to what he had created. No-one had shown more loyalty, no-one. Not even Catherine. Dan would never have climbed aboard a stagecoach with Hearst, he knew that for a fact. If there was to be a successor, in any way shape or form, at the present moment, there seemed no other viable candidate. "Reason would be right," he said. "It's a good thing I have you by my side, Dan, ready to take a step up in the world." He clapped the other man on the shoulder and then turned back to where Beth was now standing alone in the corner. Threading his way through the tables, he came upon her and she shrank slightly back away from him. "How much money you made tonight?"

"Twenty dollars," she said quietly.

He nodded, "Fair enough for one just starting out. Be in my office in ten minutes."

"Why?" she asked, clearly without thinking.

He looked at her face and wished to God that she was someone else. "Why the fuck do you think?"

San Francisco

"Thank you for your company this evening," Edward said as he helped Catherine out of the carriage. "I very much look forward to our trip to the theatre tomorrow but, I confess, it has been most agreeable having some time alone with you tonight."

"Thank you for dinner, it was lovely," she replied. "I too look forward to tomorrow night."

He kissed her hand. "Until tomorrow then."

"Until tomorrow." She turned away and climbed the steps to the front door, it opening on her arrival and a maid instantly taking her hat and coat. She felt a familiar sense of fatigue wash over her and she slowly climbed the stairs towards her room, her feet making little sound on the plush carpet. It had been a nice evening and yet…yet there were thoughts playing at the back of her mind that she couldn't quite give coherent thought to. As she rounded the corner and approached her door, she stopped suddenly at the sight of Hearst waiting for her. "M…Mr Hearst."

"I heard the carriage approach and I assumed that it was you returning from your dinner with Mr Milligan," he said. "May I enquire as to how you found him?"

"We had a very nice evening," she replied. "He's a kind man."

"Yes, I have known him all his life."

"He made mention of his father being in partnership with you and of he now holding that role since his father's passing."

"Indeed. Edward's father was a good man, a practical man. Much like myself." He paused. "Phoebe takes to her bed again with a recurrence of her headache. She hopes to be in better form tomorrow for our evening at the theatre."

Catherine approached him carefully. "You expect me to take her place?"

"I have told you of what my expectations are…"

"And I think I made myself perfectly fucking clear to you. You may think of me as a whore, but I will not lie on my back for you."

His expression darkened. "I have allowed you to remain as you are since leaving the camp, a restraint I may not have shown under other circumstances. I am not a patient man, Miss McCord, and I will not be held off nor insulted into altering my chosen course."

"If you lay one fucking finger on me, I shall scream to high heaven and everyone in this fucking house will bear witness to your actions," she said, flattening herself against the bedroom door.

"You think for one minute that anyone in this house takes direction from anyone other than I? You think were you to tell tales of what transpired that you would be believed?"

"You're disgusting."

"You may think that, Miss McCord, but I am not without skill, talent or consideration in that department. We may do this the easy way or the hard way. Either is to my taste as I am as enjoying of a willing partner as I am of one who fights me, though I would wager the former would result in a more pleasant experience for you." He moved closer to her and she felt her heart pound with fear. She was tempted to strike him, spit on him, do something beyond her words to ward him off and yet she couldn't help but think that such action would only inflame the situation.

"I would rather die than lay with you, Mr Hearst," she said quietly. "So, if you mean to have me, you will require to murder me first."

He laughed softly. "Were you this obstinate in your dealings with Mr Swearengen?"

She paused, thinking back on that night in the whores' room and every night thereafter. Her stomach contracted with a pain that had become all too familiar in weeks past and she fought to keep the tears from her eyes at the memory. "There was no need," she replied. "He never once laid a finger on me that I did not either initiate or indeed welcome."

"Then I shall see it as my challenge," Hearst said, stepping back. "I will have you, Miss McCord, make no mistake about that."

As he turned and headed back down the hallway away from her, Catherine felt herself sag with the release of pent up adrenaline. Fumbling behind her, she unlocked the door and rushed inside, closing and locking it behind her, before sinking down on the floor, her careful composure giving way to distress. Wrapping her arms around herself, she wished for someone else, someone who she knew would make her feel safe and protected. Despite everything that had happened, she couldn't help but yearn for a person far away.

Deadwood

"I don't get why you're all steamed up about it. Cocksucker's dead and that's a fucking cause for celebration you ask me."

Joanie sighed and shook her head. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Good, cause I fucking don't." Jane Cannary swayed slightly as she stood inside the door of the other woman's room. "I ain't got no idea why you would shed nary a tear for that cocksucker, having been bound to him like you have all these fucking years."

"He was all I ever knew, from being a girl. For a long time, I thought that what he gave me was…normal. I thought he felt something for me…" she trailed off, knowing that her feelings about Cy were more complicated than she could ever give voice to, or that anyone as drunk as Jane was could ever understand.

"Maybe he did," Jane conceded. "But whatever he felt, it was fucked up."

"I know…" Joanie walked over to the window and looked down into the thoroughfare below. Darkness had fell long ago and yet there were still people tramping back and forth, going about their lives. What was her life now? Even having fled from under Cy's eye she had still felt connected to him…trapped even. She couldn't help but wonder if Catherine felt the same, so many miles away in San Francisco and, not for the first time, she thought back on her friend's offer to take her with her.

"What about the Bella Union?"

"What about it?"

"Who's going to run it now?"

Joanie turned back around to face Jane and shook her head. "I don't know. Whoever he left it to, I guess. Not that he had any family that I know of, save a mother somewhere. Or maybe he didn't leave it to anybody."

Jane peered at her. "Things got to be left to somebody."

"Do they? I don't know. I never had anything left to me, legal or otherwise." She sat down on the bed again. "I'm sure someone will take it, whatever the outcome."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you want it?"

Joanie laughed, as though the idea was ridiculous, as though she hadn't considered it at all since she had learned of Cy's demise. Did she want it? Could she run it? If she did, what kind of place would it be? Running women no longer held the same appeal for her. She was tired of checking the girls before they turned out, tired of managing them, tired of it all. Even branching out to a higher class of whoremistressing had done nothing to alleviate her fatigue. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "Do I?"

Jane frowned, drunkenness outweighing any sense of understanding. "If you don't know, how the fuck do I know?"

"I don't know," Joanie replied, looking at her friend and wondering, not for the first time, what really lay between them. "I don't fucking know."

XXXX

It had been better that time. She had at least pretended to be enjoying it which, whilst not essential for the act itself, certainly helped him reach the conclusion. For years he had fucked women and felt no real sense of having given pleasure as well as received it. Not until her…

"Men like that," he said to Beth as she cleaned herself up. "They like a woman to make them feel their efforts have been appreciated." She looked at him as though she didn't believe him, and he shook his head. "Get the fuck out." When she had gone, he got to his feet and moved over to his desk, pouring himself another drink with one hand whilst rebuttoning his duds with the other. "And yet," he mused. "Why do I give a fuck whether a whore's satisfied herself or not?" As he downed the whiskey, there was a knock at the door. "Yeah."

"Boss…" Johnny pushed the door open. "Merrick's downstairs with that telegraph operator."

"Blazanov?" The other man nodded. "What the fuck do they want at this time of night?"

"Merrick said Blazanov had gotten a telegram you might be interested in."

"Alright, tell him I'll be right down and that it better be fucking important." Alone again, he finished redressing and sighed heavily before taking another large helping from the whiskey bottle, finding himself surprised that it suddenly held no liquor. "One step away from drowning in my own fucking whiskey," he noted to himself as he opened the door and headed back out onto the balcony. The bar was slowly beginning to quieten as dead of night approached but he could see Merrick and Blazanov waiting by the bar. "What the fuck is so important?" he demanded, descending the stairs. "Don't you know it's past the hour of my bedtime?"

"Uh…Mr Blazanov received a telegram earlier that he thought you should see," Merrick said, gesturing to the other man.

"Well, is it for me?"

"No, it was addressed to me," Merrick continued. "But I consider the contents worthy of disseminating."

Al turned to the smaller man who handed him the piece of paper. Reading it quickly, he folded it and passed it to Merrick. "They didn't waste much time," he said. "Tolliver only croaked this morning."

"Indeed," Merrick mused, "and yet it seems his representatives wish to proceed with undue haste."

"Proceed with what?" Johnny asked.

"The sale of the Bella Union," Al replied. "Bidding takes place in three days."


	4. Chapter 4

November 8th 1876

Deadwood

"I read about in the Pioneer this morning. I swear Joanie, it's true!"

"Well where the fuck is it?"

"Where the fuck is what?"

"The paper, Tess. Where's the goddamn newspaper if it holds such a story? Didn't you think to bring it to me rather than simply holler about it?" Joanie sighed and leaned back against the doorframe of her room. Tess had woken her from a sleep, flushed and excited with the news that the Bella Union was up for sale and that there would be an auction on November 10th. At first, she had been sceptical but now she couldn't help but wonder what the other woman would have to gain from such a story that could easily be disproved.

"I…I left it there. I'm sorry," Tess said. "I had to come tell you. You…you have to bid for it."

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Because…because you have to. Don't you want it?"

Joanie sighed, thinking back to the conversation that she had had with Jane the previous day. Did she want the Bella Union, after everything that had transpired there, good and bad? She shook her head. It wasn't a decision she could make standing on a doorstep in her nightgown. "I'll be along once I've dressed," she said.

"But…"

"I said I'd be along!" Stepping back, she closed the door in the other woman's face and let out a long breath. "Cy…" she whispered. "Why have you done this?"

"What…what…is it?" A snort came from the direction of the far corner of the room and Jane sat bolt upright, clearly awoken from some sort of sleep. "What the fuck…where am I?"

"It's alright Jane, you're with me," Joanie said, crossing over to the bed and sitting down on the edge. "You've been dreaming is all."

Jane peered at her. "What the fuck time is it?"

"Early."

"Oh…well, wake me up when it's later." Jane lay back down, rolled over and was soon snoring again. Joanie watched her, envious of how easily sleep came to her, even if it did require assistance from copious amounts of liquor.

After a while, she dressed herself and then slipped out into the thoroughfare, treading the well-worn path from Shaughnessy's down towards the Bella Union. There was a marked chill in the air, the sun pale and low in the sky and she couldn't help the shiver that ran through her body. As she approached her destination, her gaze was drawn upwards to the Gem balcony to see Al, standing with his morning cup of coffee, watching events unfold as day began. He met her gaze and nodded to her, a gesture that she returned and, as she turned and made for the door of the place she had once called home, she wondered if he too had read the news and what he had made of it.

"Stupid," she muttered to herself. "He probably wrote it."

XXXX

"She always dresses well."

"Who?"

"The Stubbs woman," Al said, stepping back into his office from the balcony and closing the door behind him, lest the morning chill invade. "Tolliver certainly saw to it that she had the best of what he could offer." He drained his coffee cup and put it down on the desk. "No doubt she'll have had sight of the morning's announcement." He lifted the copy of the Pioneer that lay atop his desk and looked once more over the section on the front page explaining the details of the auction for the Bella Union.

Dan shifted by the door. "You think she'll want to bid?"

"Who knows. Nostalgia and affection for him gone might influence her, or she may wish to have no association with the joint, despite her attending there this morning."

"You want me to try and find out?"

"No," Al eyed him wearily. "I can only imagine what your methods of interrogating her might involve." He paused, considering his options. "I think a more congenial approach might be considered best."

"Congenial how?"

"An invitation for her to pay me a call. To discuss matters of a business nature. That way we both know where we stand before bidding commences."

"What if she won't come?"

"Persuade her. That shouldn't be beyond your capabilities." He rubbed his hands together. "She was a friend of Catherine's. Tell her I mean her no harm or ill-will. It's a conversation is all, one liable to benefit us both."

"Alright," Dan nodded, "You want me to go now or give it some time?"

"Go now. The sooner we understand each other, the better."

San Francisco

Phoebe sighed and pressed her fingers to her head. "Catherine, my dear, I really think this is a conversation you should be having with George, not me."

Catherine paused, teacup halfway to her mouth and regarded her friend carefully. "You still feel unwell this morning?"

"My head throbs once more. I grow weary of this month after month. I have asked Dr Brown numerous times whether there is anything that he can prescribe and time and time again he tells me that it is simply something which I must bear as a woman." She shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder why there are so few women doctors. Surely there is a need for them."

"And yet, you suggest I direct my query to Mr Hearst?"

Phoebe opened her eyes. "Not because I don't consider myself able to provide an opinion…"

"Then why?"

"Catherine…I think it is admirable that you wish to strike out on your own and be an independent woman, truly I do. But you have heard what George has said about how vulnerable you would be living in a strange city on your own without protection. You are safest here, in our home."

"But surely when you invited me to accompany you here you didn't mean for me to stay with you forever?" Catherine tried to keep her growing impatience out of her tone. The previous night, after her encounter with Hearst, she had decided to renew her efforts to leave his home and find lodgings of her own, such that she wouldn't require to be concerned about his advances. She had decided that speaking to Phoebe would be her best first course of action but, so far, the conversation had not proceeded as she had hoped.

"No, of course not. But it has only been a few months and you are still so unschooled in our ways here." Phoebe looked at her kindly. "Besides, should matters progress as I would hope they would, you may have no need of lodgings of your own."

Catherine paused, "Meaning what?"

"Meaning…Mr Milligan?"

"What of him?"

"Oh, come my dear! He clearly adores you and he is a very suitable young man. I would wager that it will not be long before he asks for your hand and I know you would feel conflicted by such an offer…" Phoebe waved her hand as Catherine opened her mouth to respond. "But you would need to think long and hard before considering to refuse him. Were you to marry him, he would ensconce you in his home which, I may add, is stunningly beautiful."

Catherine said nothing for a long moment. Were Phoebe's predictions to be true then she would simply be swapping one prison for another. Yes, Edward was a nice, suitable young man and were she to be his wife she would be elevated in polite society and would never want for anything again. But it was becoming more and more obvious to her, that any such match had been carefully orchestrated by Hearst and she had no wish to be connected to him in any way. "I'm not going to marry him, Phoebe."

"Oh, you say that now…"

"I mean it!" she raised her voice, causing her friend to look at her in vague astonishment. "I have no wish to marry Edward, no wish to marry anyone! I came here for independence, to forge my own path with the means I had been given, to be a woman in my own right and instead I find myself prisoner in your home with my future apparently mapped out in front of me by you and your fucking husband!" Her profanity caused Phoebe to gasp but she cared little. "I am tired of being dictated to! My whole life has been such, my father, Al and now you and Mr Hearst. I will acquiesce no longer!" She pushed her chair back from the table and threw down her napkin. "I will attend the theatre this evening as planned but after that, I wish to make my own decisions, starting with finding somewhere of my own to live!"

Before the other woman could utter a reply, Catherine stalked away from the table and hurried back in the direction of her rooms, her heart pounding in her chest. Phoebe would, of course, tell Hearst of what she had said and God only knew what his reaction would be. "At least I didn't tell her that," she muttered to herself. "At least I didn't tell her what a fucking cocksucker her husband really is!"

"Ma'am?"

She jumped and let out a cry of shock as, upon entering her room, found Rose making up the bed. "Oh…Rose, I'm sorry. I…I didn't see you there." She pressed her hand against her chest. "Forgive me."

"That's alright Ma'am, I'm just finished. Are you well? You look flushed?"

"Do I?" Catherine turned to the looking glass and saw that her cheeks were red. "Yes, I do. I just…well…" she floundered for what to say.

"Don't worry Ma'am," Rose came around the bed towards her, a knowing smile on her face. "I think the same about Mr Hearst too."

Catherine looked at her. "You do?" Rose nodded. "I see. I'd be grateful if you didn't repeat what you heard me say."

"Maybe we could both agree to remain silent, Ma'am."

"Yes…indeed…"

"Will you be going out this morning?"

"Yes," Catherine replied determinedly. "Yes, I fucking will."

Deadwood

"You…uh…you want us to open?"

"Yes, Con, I do," Joanie replied, irked already by the other man, even more so than she had been in the past. "Until we know what's happening with this place, we need to keep making money. It's what Cy would want."

"Uh…right then." Con looked at her. "You…uh…you seen the paper this morning?"

"Not yet, but Tess told me what was in it." She watched as Con leapt over to a nearby table and snatched the Pioneer away from where one of the girls was looking at it before waving it under her nose.

"It's on the front page."

Joanie took it from him, reading the small type that indicated an auction would take place in two days time for the sale of the Bella Union. Merrick would act as auctioneer in association with Sol Star who would keep track of bidding and handle the initial transfer of money. "As I see." Con shifted in front of her, clearly desperate to ask a question that even she didn't know the answer to. "Was there something else?"

"Uh…no"

"Ok then," she turned to look at the girls, all of them in various states of undress and inebriation and shook her head. When she had been there full time, they had all been presentable and none of them had ever been in high. In the corner, she could see Lila lounging and the very sight of the other woman filled her with anger. She turned back to where Tess was hovering. "Ain't you in charge of the girls around here now?"

"Uh, well…"

"Then get them turned out! Or do I have to do fucking everything here myself?" Joanie sighed heavily and turned back towards the door in time to see Dan enter, his eyes glancing around as though expecting to see Cy appear at any moment. She stepped towards him, half curious and half certain about his purpose for being there. "Mr Dority."

"Miss Stubbs," he nodded to her. "Opening up again?"

"As you see."

"Yes, that I do." He paused. "You've seen that the place is going up for sale?" She nodded. "Uh…well…Mr Swearengen asks if you wouldn't mind paying a call on him this morning. He'd like to discuss some business with you."

"What kind of business?"

"Uh…" Dan paused, clearly thrown by her querying his meaning. "Well, just…business."

Joanie paused, considering how to respond. She wasn't afraid of Al, not really. After all, he had been Catherine's husband and she had seen only affection and protection between them, masked as it often had been by rebuke and argument. Yet, there was something about going into the Gem to meet with him that made her feel slightly uncomfortable though she was curious as to the reason for the request.

"I'm happy to meet with him."

"Alright then…"

"But he needs to come here. I've got a very busy day ahead."

"Oh…" Dan stuttered. "Well, I'm not sure."

"I'm afraid that's the best I can do," she met his gaze defiantly, though her heart pounded wildly in her chest. "Twelve o'clock."

Dan nodded, "I'll pass that along."

"You do that," Joanie replied as he turned for the door again and felt her legs shake slightly. "You do that."

XXXX

"Conniving little whore," Al remarked when Dan returned with news of Joanie's reply. "Wants me to make an ass of myself again like I did when she and Tolliver first rolled into camp." He remembered well his visit to the Bella Union, hoping to secure amiable relations with the other man and ensure that there was no overlap in their mutual shared areas of interests. Instead, he had been left in no uncertain terms that Tolliver had considered him no such threat to business, being an establishment to attract a 'trailblazing element.' It still smarted, all these months later.

"What do you want to do?" Dan asked. "Want me to force her to come here?"

"At knifepoint? Don't be so fucking stupid. I want her to be well-disposed to our discussion, not looking for an opportunity to try and fuck me over." He paused. "I'll go to her as requested. As I said before, she was a friend of Catherine's, a confidante…there's much we might learn from each other." Dan opened his mouth to speak but Al cut him off. "Go and see to the whores." Alone again, he sat back in his chair, contemplating the meeting ahead. If Catherine had confided anything about anything to anyone, it would have been Joanie Stubbs. He just had to decide how best to get whatever information he needed out of her.

San Francisco

The bank manager seemed pleased to see her, though a little surprised that she was there alone and not accompanied by Mr Hearst as she had been before. It had certainly given her pause to go inside, in a way that entering the Bank of Deadwood never had. Perhaps it had been because, there, Mrs Ellsworth had been in charge and dealing with another woman on such matters was preferable to dealing with a man. She had no wish to convey her uncertainty to the man in front of her, however, and she merely smiled and accepted his offer to sit.

"And what can I do for you today Miss McCord?" he asked.

Catherine paused, wondering where to start. Since deciding that she would go out for the day, she had asked Rose if she happened to know of any lodgings that were available. The other woman had been taken aback by her request but had advised her that her sister, Mary, was maid to the Farmer family and that they had modest accommodation available that they had, so far, been unable to let. Armed with their address, she had elected to pay a call on Mrs Farmer, a charming lady who had been more than eager to show her the lodgings in question. As she had walked round and examined the rooms she had had to concede that, although furnished, they were not to the same standard as those in the Hearst home but were more luxurious than anything she had encountered in the camp and, therefore, were ideal. Mrs Farmer had seemed delighted to have her as a potential tenant and they had agreed that she could move in a few days time. All that required to be arranged was the deposit and the monthly payments thereafter.

"I have secured accommodation for myself," she replied. "I require this amount as deposit in cash and thereafter I will require to withdraw this amount monthly." She slid a piece of paper across the desk towards him and he regarded it carefully.

"I see…" he mused. "I can see no difficulty with that."

"Thank you. I also wanted to ask if you happened to be aware of any premises for sale or rent."

"Premises?"

"I'm minded to set myself up in business using the means that I have," she explained. "It was always my intention to make my own way once I arrived in the city, despite Mr and Mrs Hearst's kind patronage."

"Yes, of course…" he regarded her over his glasses. "May I ask in what field?"

"I had considered ladies fashion, dresses and the like. I believe I could succeed in that area."

"Mmmm…when you last visited with Mr Hearst, there was talk of making some investments. I recall he suggested you might consider the Comstock."

The very name of the company caused her stomach to turn over. The thought of putting any of her money towards Hearst's interests made her feel physically ill. And what would Al think? Though it was her own money, her share of the Gem lawfully inherited, how would he feel if he knew that any profit from their business had been sent that man's way? She knew that she couldn't agree to such a transaction, Hearst's behaviour towards her notwithstanding. "I am not minded to pursue that venture at this time."

"Of course, that is your prerogative. Well, if you can give me some time I can certainly enquire as to possible suitable properties for you in that regard. I'm sure a woman like yourself could made a success of such a venture. In the meantime, I will instruct my clerks to withdraw the amount required as deposit for your lodgings and made a note that, going forwards, you will require to make monthly withdrawals."

"Thank you," Catherine said, getting to her feet and holding out her hand for him to shake. "I appreciate that."

"Not a problem. Not a problem at all."

Deadwood

At two minutes past twelve, suited and booted, Al entered the Bella Union. It was one of the first times that he had been inside since he and Doc had taken Tolliver to task over the plague some months before. He had to admit that it was well appointed and that the whores were certainly higher class, at least in presentation, than his own. He couldn't help but consider what overheads Tolliver might have had in that regard and whether or not he would be minded to continue to meet them.

"Afternoon Mr Swearengen," Con greeted him.

"Mr Stapleton," he replied, eying the other distastefully. The man was a shitheel and Al didn't care if he knew it. "I'm due to meet with Miss Stubbs."

"She's in the back," Con gestured towards the office. "She said for you to go right in."

Without offering thanks, Al made his way towards the back office, knocked the door and waited for Joanie to grant him entry. She did so quickly and, when he entered, she rose from the chair behind the desk that used to belong to her predecessor. "Making yourself at home?" he enquired.

"Just casting an eye over things," Joanie replied. "I appreciate your coming here as opposed to insisting I come to the Gem."

"Oh I can understand how…fraught things must be at such a difficult time," he replied, accepting the seat she offered him. "May I offer my condolences on your loss."

"Thank you."

"It must be difficult, losing someone you were so close to." Joanie's face flickered but she refrained from replying, merely nodding in agreement. "You'll have seen the announcement in the Pioneer."

"Of course."

"Those lawyer bastards work fast, don't they? Cy not even in the ground yet, dead only but a few hours and already they're looking to carve up his possessions." Al shook his head. "I was as surprised as I'm sure you were to read of the auction."

"I ain't sure surprised is the right word. I suppose it had to happen."

"I had a notion he might have left the place to you in his will, being as close as you once were." She looked away and he could tell that the thought had crossed her own mind. "Perhaps he didn't want to burden you with such a legacy."

"You think a saloon a burden?"

"I think it takes fucking blood, sweat and tears to make a success of a place like this. You would know that yourself given your previous foray into ownership at the Chez Ami. Again, condolences on your losses there too. One could understand if you didn't wish to go through all that again."

Joanie regarded him carefully. "Why don't you just say what you came here to say."

She was forthright, a quality he admired. A quality he had, indeed, loved in another. "You will be unsurprised to hear that I was most put out when the previous occupant sold this place to Tolliver without recourse to me. I would have offered on it, and offered on it handsomely, had he presented me with the opportunity, but the first I knew of his sale to Tolliver was when you arrived in camp. Now, opportunity re-presents itself in the form of this auction."

"You wish to buy."

"I do. My purpose in coming to you is to enquire whether you are of the same mind." She didn't say anything for a long moment, and he fought down the urge to speak again until she had, all the time wondering in the background what other information he might be able to elicit from her at the right moment.

"Truth be told," she replied finally. "I ain't decided yet."

"I see…" he nodded. "May I enquire the reason for your hesitation?"

"You may enquire, but I ain't sure I can give you an answer." She met his gaze. "I still got time to think on it. Auction ain't for a few days yet."

"Indeed it ain't. I only hope that neither of us are blindsided by outside interests."

"Outside interests?"

"Those from outside the camp who might seek to lay claim to the property if only to secure a further foothold in these hills."

Her face paled slightly. "You mean Mr Hearst?"

"It's a fair possibility," Al nodded. "After all, he owns the hotel and the claim formerly held by Mrs Ellsworth. Wouldn't a saloon like this one be a positive addition to his holdings? And given the speed with which notification of the auction came and from where, isn't it reasonable to assume that he would be aware of it and possibly send representatives to secure it?"

"You clearly don't want me to attempt to bid. Why does my not bidding against you secure this place away from Hearst's interests?"

"It doesn't," he replied. "But I would wager that, unless you've been left a handsome financial inheritance from Tolliver, which would be surprising given he didn't see fit to pass this place to you directly…I could outbid you from now until the next century." She said nothing and he elected not to push matters. "Why don't you consider your position and revert to me tomorrow?" He rose and turned for the door.

"Have you heard from Catherine?"

He paused, turning back to look at her, expecting to see something akin to satisfaction on her face at raising the issue when his intention all along had been to bring his former wife into the conversation, but instead, only seeing concern. "No, and I have no expectation of contact. Do you?"

"I hoped I might have heard something from her before now. I'm…I'm worried for her safety."

"You think Mr Hearst meant to throw her from the stagecoach before they reached their destination?" It was meant as light-hearted humour, the kind that helped him deflect from his own feelings on the matter when they threatened to overwhelm him, but her expression remained grave.

Joanie paused and then rose to her feet. "Did she ever…I mean, did she tell you…?"

"Tell me what?"

"About what transpired between her and Hearst?"

Al held his breath for a brief moment, wondering if she was about to divulge secrets of Catherine's thought process and unsure if he really wanted to hear them after all. "If you're referring to whatever assurances he gave her about the life she would have in San Francisco, I ain't fucking interested in knowing the details."

"No, I meant…I meant what transpired between them at Shaughnessy's." Joanie continued to hold his gaze and then, clearly wavering, looked at the floor. "When he…when he tried to force himself upon her in her room."

For a moment, Al wasn't sure that he had heard correctly. The sounds from outside the office, the girls chattering, drinks being poured, men raucous already in their pursuit of booze, cards and snatch appeared to fade into the background as he took in the words the woman had just uttered. "What the fuck…?"

"I…"

"Explain your fucking comment or see me not for the gentleman I have thus far presented myself as!"

"She came to me afterwards, shaken up, her face all red from where he hit her. He didn't succeed in his quest she…she pulled a knife on him but…I…I told her that she should tell you, that you would do something about it but she…she said that you would likely do nothing and…and how would that make her feel?" Joanie looked up at him again. "You would have done something, wouldn't you…if you'd known?"

Al stepped back towards the door, hearing his heart pounding in his head, the blood pulsing through his body at the information she had just imparted. He held her gaze, waiting for her to say that it was fantasy, a lie to throw him off his course, but he could tell from her expression that every word was true and that she took no pleasure in them. Without offering reply, he threw the office door open and stormed back through the Bella Union, ignoring Con's weak attempt at farewell. Crossing the thoroughfare, he was back inside the Gem within seconds, Dan coming around from the counter upon seeing him.

"Boss?" he asked, his expression concerned.

"Get your fucking guns," Al growled. "We ride for San Francisco, tonight!"


End file.
